Doncha hate it when...

I'm not supposed to hate. I know that. But finding a leaky kitchen sink pipe that's dripping greasy, scuzzy water onto the basement carpet makes me seethe. See, I'm not hating just for hate's sake. I really, truly despise some things. I don't hate the sink. But it does lead me to a related thing I can't stand: doing the dishes.

So here's my list of what really irks me, from a household standpoint. In no particular order:

1. Those dishes. Thank the stars we have a dishwasher, or I'd really be beside myself. The awful thing about dirty dishes is just when you get them clean, you dirty more. It's a neverending cycle. The only thing that's worse than having to do dishes is to not be able to do the dishes because the pipes beneath your sink are rotting and have holes that cause leaks that drip into your basement. Major grrrr.

2. Laundry. For much the same reason as dishes. They're all done for about 5 minutes and then you wear an outfit and it starts all over again. I guess if we all walked around naked, we wouldn't have this trouble. But we would be exchanging for a different set of woes. Among them, the need to buy copious amounts of sunscreen as well as the chance we'd all end up in jail for public indecency. And I'm pretty sure I'd hate jail.

3. Dusting. Henry can tell you how much I hate dusting. He often shows us how he can write words in the dust on our bed headboard or on various other furniture tops. I'm sensing a theme here: you do it and then two days later you need to do it again.

4. Weeding flowerbeds. Again. Damn weeds grow, you pluck them, here they come again. The only upside to our mediocre lawn care is that no matter how bad we think our yard looks, we're positively stunning compared with the foreclosure house next door. (For those of you following our neighborhood saga, the house to our west, which was vacant in foreclosure for two years, is now owned by a lovely woman who puts our housekeeping to shame. Now the house to the east has been taken back by the bank and sits in disarray. We're beginning to think there's something wrong with us.)

5. Scooping poop. But I refuse to hire someone to come pick up the dog poop. I hate picking it up. But I hate paying to have it picked up MORE. Of course, I really hate getting poop stuck in the treads of my athletic shoes, too, so maybe I should figure out what garners the greatest amount of my wrath.

Aaah. Talking about hating maybe makes me feel a little better. Don't worry. Tomorrow I'll balance things out and write about the 5 gadgets I wouldn't trade for anything in the world. Snark versus sincerity...what will win out?!

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